Always Been Yours
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: John loves Sherlock, and he refuses to sit back and watch while his best friend gets himself killed.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 _Written for auction prompt - First Words: After All_

 **Word Count - 4653**

 **AN -** I'm not completely sure of the details of how secret service/MI6/government type things work, so suspend your belief for this fic, because I've undoubtedly got things wrong.

* * *

 **Always Been Yours**

* * *

After all the conversations John had had in his life, he didn't believe anyone could surprise him. And then Sherlock happened.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

An interesting first question, certainly, John mused idly. It had given him a clue as to what life with Sherlock Holmes would be like, although of course, nothing could truly prepare for life with the world's only Consulting Detective.

It had been fun for a while, a welcome distraction. John's forced leave hadn't been even close to as boring as he thought it would be and for that he would be forever thankful.

Moriarty, though. He was a problem.

John sipped his tea, glancing at the sleeping Sherlock on the sofa. The evening's events had rather taken it out of him, and as the adrenaline had crashed, John had barely managed to get him home before he dropped. Now John had a decision to make. Could he really keep pretending that he was just a simple army doctor when Sherlock had actually met his match?

 _No._

But then, he'd be giving up everything he'd found at Baker Street. A sense of freedom, a sense of home. A best friend.

Sherlock would likely never trust him again, not to mention Mycroft. Good Lord, Mycroft would undoubtedly take it as a personal affront that John was more, much more, than either of the Holmes brothers had ever suspected. With a sigh, John put his cup on the table and stood up, searching out a pen and piece of paper from the desk.

He'd leave a note at least. Sherlock deserved that much.

Signing his name, John carefully leant the note up against the skull, sure that Sherlock would find it there. His coat on, John took a final look at his best friend before he slipped through the door and out of 221, ducking into an alley away from the surveillance cameras. It was time to stop pretending.

...

Sherlock woke with a jolt when the front door slammed, listening to the rabidly climbing footsteps on the stairs. He'd barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes when Mycroft entered the living room.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, frowning as he sat up.

"John's missing."

"What? Don't be foolish, of course he isn't," Sherlock argued. "He's..."

Racing up the stairs two at a time, Sherlock barged into John's room, growling when he found it empty with no evidence of John having slept there at all the previous night. Pulling his mobile from his pocket as he retraced his steps to the living room, he tried John's number.

"The number you are calling is not recognised."

"No!" Sherlock shouted, throwing his phone onto the sofa. Turning to Mycroft, he asked, "What do you know?"

"John left at a little past four am, he was alone. He ducked into an alley down the street and the surveillance cameras haven't picked up a sign of him since. I tried to get a location on his mobile, but I believe the battery has been removed because we've got nothing."

"He can't have just disappeared, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped, searching the room with his eyes. "There has to be something!"

He traced the room carefully, checking the desk, John's chair, the pile of various papers on the coffee table, but found nothing. Looking up at the mantle, his brow furrowed when he saw a piece of paper hiding his skull. Snatching it up, he flicked the paper open and read. Mycroft watched the blood drain from his little brother's face.

"What is it?" he asked, stepping towards Sherlock.

Sherlock sat down heavily in John's chair, holding out the paper for Mycroft to read for himself.

 _Sherlock,_

 _I wish I could speak to you instead of writing this, but there's no time and honestly, you'd try and stop me from doing what must be done, so I'm actually thankful you're asleep. An explanation, as much as I know you'll need one, isn't something I can commit to paper even if I did have time, so I'm sorry but you're going to have to be patient._

 _All I can ask in the days to come, is that you trust me. Trust me and look after yourself please. When all is said and done, I'll explain as much as I'm able and you'll be able to make your own decision on if you still want me around. Know that I'll accept whatever decision you make._

 _Don't look for me, Sherlock. Stay safe, and if anyone asks about me, tell them I'm visiting with Harry._

 _I'll come back._

 _I promise._

 _John._

"Have you got any idea what this is all about?" Mycroft asked after reading the note through twice. Sherlock didn't reply immediately but Mycroft waited for him to get his thoughts in order.

"There's always been a few things about John that didn't make sense. Amongst the quiet, the jumpers and the tea and the... charm. There would be moments that he'd be utterly brilliant. I never thought to question deeper than I had already but..."

Sherlock trailed off, shaking his head.

"Last night, for just a moment, I thought he was Moriarty. I honestly did. I hated that he'd tricked me so thoroughly. But I trust him, Mycroft. John... whatever he's doing, wherever he's gone... he wouldn't hurt me deliberately."

"I'll look into it immediately," Mycroft assured him. "In the meantime, do as John asked and look after yourself, okay? I happen to agree with your assessment. I truly believe that whatever else John Watson is about, he cares for you deeply."

...

Three weeks of nothing followed John's disappearance and Sherlock was steadily losing his mind at the lack of news. Mycroft called him daily, but each day it was the same conversation. Mycroft had found nothing of note on John Watson, and he'd found no trace of him at all since he'd left Baker Street.

When his phone rang on the twenty third day post disappearance, Sherlock was tempted to ignore the it. The small flicker of hope that today would be the day forced him to accept the call.

"Anything?"

"A car will be with you in five minutes. Be ready and get in it."

Sherlock sat up. "You've found something?"

"Five minutes, Sherlock."

The car delivered him to an abandoned warehouse and Sherlock hated that he was actually confused. What on earth was Mycroft playing at? He walked inside quietly, searching everywhere he could for clues as to what was going on. A clang sounded to the left and Sherlock slipped into the hallway, checking rooms as he passed them. He found nothing until the end room.

Mycroft was sitting in a hardback chair, clearly tied to it uncomfortably. A gun was resting almost lazily against his temple.

Holding the gun was Moriarty. Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

"Bit samey isn't it?" He asked, gesturing to his brother. "I expected more for some reason."

Jim nodded slowly. There was a rage in his eyes that unsettled Sherlock. He looked... unstable. Completely insane. Unpredictable.

"You should have left well alone, Sherlock," Jim complained. "I thought we could have something, you and I. Something special. Something lasting."

Sherlock met Mycroft's eyes, widening his own slightly in question. Mycroft looked as confused as Sherlock was feeling.

"But you had to go and ruin it!" Jim shouted, drawing Sherlock's attention once more. "And you know the worst of it? I have absolutely no idea how you managed it. So tell me, Sherlock. Buy your brother a few more minutes of life."

"I..." Sherlock began, but he had no idea what to say. Moriarty had clearly completely lost his mind.

"Tick, tock, Sherlock!" the madman sang, his eyes narrowing as he pressed the gun harder into Mycroft's head.

"You're asking the wrong guy," a voice said from the doorway. Mycroft's eyes widened and Sherlock spun on the spot, his heart racing wildly. John stood casually leaning against the door frame in a fitted black suit, his gun trained on Moriarty. "Bet you didn't see _this_ coming, did you?"

Sherlock recognised the taunt, the words Moriarty had forced John to say at the pool.

John chuckled. "Three of the smartest men the world has ever seen, and you're all speechless because of little old me! Who'd have thought it? Drop the gun."

Jim glared. "Shoot me, and I'll take him with me," he snarled, tapping Mycroft's head with the gun.

"Well, I mean, maybe," John agreed with a nod. "But then, I'm a pretty good shot, and if I hit you right, you won't be pulling any trigger. Besides, I thought you wanted to know what happened to your network? I had a speech prepared and everything."

"You expect me to believe it was you?" Jim scoffed. "You're nothing but Sherlock's little pet, a toy prepped to do his bidding."

John sniggered. "Quite. I rather hoped that you'd have some original material for me, but hey, can't have everything, I suppose."

"You're nothing, Watson. You're not even worth the bullet it would take to kill you!" Jim shouted, gesturing wildly.

John took his moment as soon as the gun was twitched away from Mycroft, putting a bullet straight into Moriarty's forehead. "And you're not worth the calories I burn talking to you," John muttered, crossing the room in a few strides. "That was much easier than I thought it would be."

Picking up the gun Moriarty had been swinging about, he put the safety on and stashed it in his belt, straightening up to untie Mycroft.

"You alright?"

"Fine," Mycroft replied, slightly dazed.

"John, what...?"

John glanced at Sherlock who seemed frozen to the spot. "His network was bigger than anything you could have handled by yourself. It's been taken care of. He was the last link that needed taking out. That's why he was so pissy. I honestly didn't believe he'd kidnap Mycroft though."

"But, John, I don't -"

"Watson!"

Two men Sherlock didn't recognised entered the room as John finished untying the last bond holding Mycroft to the chair.

"Pain in the arse, running off like that," one of them muttered, shaking his head. "We were supposed to clear the building for entry first."

"Right, meanwhile, Moriarty's in here with two hostages. Good plan that. Sort the body out, leave the lecturing to the master," John replied, waving carelessly at the corpse on the floor.

"You know she's gonna tear you a new one," the man replied, a shit eating grin on his face.

John nodded. "Of course. Let's go, shall we?"

"John," Sherlock snapped. "Explain what the bloody hell is going on!"

"Short version? I wasn't about to let you get yourself killed by this madman. The long version will have to wait until I've had my ass kicked I'm afraid. I'll come find you later."

"John!"

With an apologetic smile, John left the room followed by the two men who were carrying Moriarty between them. Sherlock looked at Mycroft.

"Any ideas?"

Mycroft nodded. "John Watson just saved our lives."

...

Sherlock paced the length of Mycroft's home office. Mycroft sat at the desk watching him.

"Are you certain you don't want to wait at Baker Street?" he asked, raising a hand to cover a yawn.

Sherlock shook his head as he ran a hand through his already messy hair. "No. He said he'd find me," he replied, flopping into an armchair. "Besides, I assume you'd like to know whatever he has to say?"

"Obviously."

A knock was followed by Anthea putting her head around the door, an apologetic smile on her face.

"John Watson is here to see you, Sir, says you've been expecting him? Should I show him up?"

Mycroft nodded his consent and Anthea retreated while Sherlock sat up in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as they waited impatiently. Moments later, Anthea returned with John at her heel, an immaculate peacoat covering the suit he'd been wearing at the warehouse.

"Evening," he greeted, seeming perfectly at ease as he entered the room. Anthea excused herself, closing the door behind her.

"Dr Watson," Mycroft replied pointedly, gesturing John to the seat on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat."

"I'll stand for now," John declined, though he smiled slightly. "I hope there are no lasting effects from all the 'excitement' earlier?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Exceedingly curious, however."

"I thought you might be," John nodded, chancing a glance at Sherlock. "Since I figured you'd both be here, I fetched the files for the Moriarty case. It will fill in all the blanks of what I've been doing the past three weeks or so, and should satisfy any curiosity you have in regards to his network. May I?"

He nodded to Mycroft's computer as he pulled a USB stick out. Mycroft nodded, vacating his chair for John to sit down. Inserting the USB, John heard the gasp Mycroft tried to bite back when he saw the screen light up blue for a second before asking for a password.

John filled it in quickly, his fingers flying over the keypad.

Access Granted flashed up, and John stood up. "You can both look the files over, though of course there are safeguards on the USB should either of you attempt to make copies of the files or remove them from the stick. It'll only work for the next three hours, so I'd suggest you both start reading. I'll show myself out."

"John. Wait. Explain. Please?" Sherlock murmured, his eyes pleading.

John paused, a sad smile on his face. "Read the files, Sherlock. There are things I'm not allowed to say."

"How can I contact you?" Sherlock asked quietly, his head tilting to the side. He couldn't get a read off John and it was frustrating him.

"I'll text you in... two hours and fifty seven minutes. Read the files."

Sherlock let John leave and rounded the desk leaning over Mycroft's shoulder.

"MI6," Mycroft muttered. "Possibly Special Ops. Higher Clearance than me, I have no idea how he swung it for us to read these."

Sherlock shook his head. "How did I miss this?"

"Sherlock... MI6. They're the elite. The elite of the elite. If he didn't want you to know, there's no way you could have."

"Just click on the goddamn file, Mycroft. I want to know about the network."

...

 _Read everything? JW_

 **Where are you? SH**

 _Having coffee. Fancy it? JW_

 **Where are you? SH**

 _Told you. Having coffee. Want some? JW_

 **John. Where are you? SH**

Sherlock growled when he didn't get a reply, glaring at Mycroft who chuckled.

"What the bloody hell are you laughing at?"

"Did John tell you where he is?"

"No."

"Come here."

Sherlock glanced at the computer screen that Mycroft was watching, a chuckle escaping his throat when he saw John sitting cross-legged on the wall outside Mycroft's home, a takeaway coffee in hand, smiling serenely at the surveillance camera.

 **Come inside. SH**

They both watched John check his phone, then shake his head. Sherlock's phone buzzed in his hand.

 _Did you read everything? JW_

 **Yes. Now will you come inside? I need to talk to you. SH**

They watched him read the text before he put his phone in his pocket and jumped down off the wall. Mycroft frowned when he entered the door code without asking for it, and moments later they heard his footsteps approaching the office.

"How did you know the code?" Mycroft asked when John entered.

John snorted. "Did you not pay attention to what you just read? There aren't many places I can't get, Mycroft."

"How did you manage to hide all of this from me?" Sherlock asked quietly, stepping closer to John.

John sighed. "I was on leave when I met you. I wasn't planning on returning to active duty, as it were. That's shot to shit now of course, but it was nice while it lasted."

"Are you able to tell me... anything?"

"Not much. Maybe some. I'm sure you've figured out why you can't find any extra information on me in the system?"

"Covers," Sherlock muttered. "You don't do any... work, under your own name."

"Right."

"And you can't give me any of your alternate identities?"

"Nope."

"Is John Watson you? Or is it another identity?"

"I... I was born John Hamish Watson. Most of what you know about me is true, Sherlock. I've very rarely lied to you. I just... left things out."

"What have you lied to me about?"

"Army service, how long I served at any rate. I was shot in the shoulder but it wasn't out in the desert. Other than that it's... lies by omission."

"Why did you do this?"

John rubbed his eyes as he crossed to the window. "I told you at the warehouse. I wasn't about to let you go off on your own to try and take Moriarty down. As evil as he was, he wasn't the ultimate danger of his... operations, Sherlock. He told you that he didn't like to get his hands dirty; that was true. He had some of the most dangerous people in the world working for him. You wouldn't have made it."

"I could have helped!"

"No doubt," John agreed. "But I know you. You're the smartest man I know, but you don't play well with others. That... all of what you just read, that was a team of people who pulled it off, none of the missions were taken alone and we lost an agent in the process. You might not enjoy or feel sentiment, Sherlock, but I do. I care about you... if you died because I hadn't done all I could to save you, I'd have never been able to forgive myself."

"How did you get permission to share the information with us, John?" Mycroft asked. "My clearance could possibly have been enough, but Sherlock's certainly isn't."

John shrugged. "I asked. My... superior trusts my judgement. She trusts you and Sherlock because I trust you. Of course discretion will be expected."

"Why were the names deleted?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, I understand why some of the names were hidden, but why was your name removed as well?"

"In case the USB fell into the wrong hands," John replied. "Moriarty and his network may have been eliminated, but there are plenty of criminals left in the world."

Sherlock nodded, slumping back into the armchair once more. John smiled at the familiar sight before his expression cleared, a stoic look on his face. "I should go. I'll have the flat cleared of whatever I have there tomorrow. It was an honour and a privilege to have known you both."

"What? But... You said you'd be coming back?" Sherlock asked.

"I did. You know what happened. I... Well. Yeah."

"But... I thought you'd be coming back to Baker Street?"

"Honestly? I didn't believe for a moment that you'd want me back there."

"Of course I do," Sherlock snapped. "Don't be an idiot, John."

"Alright. I think."

Sherlock stood up without warning, wrapping his arms around John tightly.

"Ever do that to me again and I will hunt you down, do you understand?"

John nodded, wincing when Sherlock squeezed him. "I understand," he gasped out, putting a hand on Mycroft's desk to steady himself when Sherlock released him.

"You're in pain. What happened?"

John shook his head. "It's nothing, I'm fine."

"I call bullshit," Sherlock replied flatly, trying to get to the buttons on John's coat undone. John slapped his hands away, straightening himself up.

"Sherlock. I'll go see the medic's, alright?"

"You got these injuries for me," Sherlock argued quietly. "At least let me see them."

"It won't do you any good to know what injuries I sustained on a mission that was undertaken for the safety of England, Sherlock. My primary motivation may have been you, but it wasn't just for you. Really, it's nothing life threatening."

"You realise he isn't going to let it be, John?" Mycroft murmured. "Allow me to send for a medical kit. If your injuries aren't too bad, then Sherlock should at least be able to clean them up."

John sighed, taking his coat off with a wince. He stripped first his jacket, then his shirt off, rolling his eyes when Sherlock gasped, pain filling his eyes.

"I told you that you didn't want to see it," John muttered, shaking his head. "I'll get the medics to patch me up later, it's nothing that can't wait for a little while, alright?"

"John…" Sherlock whispered. He shook it off, glancing at Mycroft. "Have Anthea send the medical kit up, and an ice pack."

The front and back of John's torso was littered with bruising in various stages of healing, and there were a few slash marks, two of which had opened up again recently if the dried blood was anything to judge on.

"The ice pack isn't necessary," John muttered. "The bruises will all heal with time, Sherlock. Honestly, it's not as bad as it looks."

Sherlock huffed, but accepted the medical kit that Anthea stood holding by the door. With painstaking gentleness, he cleaned up the dried blood and put bandages over the cuts. When it was done, John redressed, smiling slightly at Sherlock.

"Thank you."

"Of course. Are your legs…?"

"Fine," John assured him.

Before he could say anything else, his phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out, rolling his eyes. Pressing the accept button, he raised it to his ear with an apologetic look at Sherlock.

"Watson."

"Miss me?" A familiar voice asked. John sighed.

"Like a hole in the head," John muttered. "What do you want?"

"Heard you were back in service. I need back up, you up for a play date?"

"Not really. What is it?"

"Ahh, it's nothing too bad. But if you don't come with me, I'm going to get stuck with the rookies, and you know how I feel about that."

"Yeah, yeah. When?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"Where?"

"It's domestic, Watson, don't get your panties in a bunch."

"M cleared it, yes?"

"Of course."

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

John ended the call and put the phone in his pocket. "Sorry about that."

"You're going on another mission while you're injured," Sherlock whispered, a sorrowful look in his eyes. "This is all my fault."

"It's not your fault, Sherlock. This is my job. It's just how it is."

"MI6... where will you be going?" Mycroft asked, looking thoughtful.

John chuckled. "I don't just work for MI6. It's a domestic case, I won't be travelling anywhere. A few hours out, I imagine."

"Who was that?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"You know I can't tell you that," John replied with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm not allowed to tell you much more than you already know about… well, about any of it. Secrecy laws and contracts. It's a messy business."

Sherlock nodded. "I understand. Are you coming home now?"

John shrugged. "Sure. Got any fun cases to tell me about over Chinese?"

Sherlock cracked a smile. "Always."

...

Life seemed to return to normal at Baker Street. John accompanied Sherlock on cases more often after giving up the job at the surgery. He'd disappear occasionally, often to turn up looking tired but satisfied, smiling secretively at Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to ignore that there was part of John's life that he wasn't privy too, but he didn't like it. Whenever John disappeared, Sherlock found it difficult to concentrate on whatever he was working on. He'd check his phone constantly, sure that any moment news of John's incapacitation would come. He knew he should have more faith in his bloggers abilities, and he did, he trusted John completely, but that didn't stop the fears from plaguing him whenever John was out of his reach.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll likely be away for a week or so, okay?"

Sherlock looked up from his experiment to find John standing by the door with a suitcase packed, a fitted suit on, looking every inch the secret service agent he was.

"Where are you going?"

John smiled, raising his eyebrow. Sherlock stood up, approaching him cautiously. Though he knew that John's bruises had long since healed, he was still careful as he hugged the shorter man, burying his face in John's shoulder.

"Come home, okay?"

The words were muffled, but John clearly understood them as he hugged Sherlock tightly.

"I will. Eat, and sleep, and look after yourself, okay?"

"Boring," Sherlock complained.

"Not boring when it means you're healthy when I return, Sherlock," John chided gently, running a hand through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock squeezed John once before he stepped back. "I… I…"

John smiled. "I know, Sherlock. Me too."

…

"What the bloody hell happened?" Sherlock demanded when John let himself in to the flat, cuts, scratches and bruising covering every inch of him that Sherlock could see. He leapt forward, helping John into his chair.

"Mission went slightly wrong," John mumbled.

"Why aren't you at the hospital?" Sherlock asked, gently pulling John's jacket and shirt off. He dropped them to the side, grimacing at the marks on John's torso.

"Promised I'd come home, didn't I?" John replied.

"I'm going to go and run you a bath," Sherlock murmured. "Don't go to sleep."

John nodded tiredly, slumping back in the chair.

Sherlock willed the water to run faster. He wanted to add something soothing to the water, lavender or camomile, but he was worried that it might irritate John's cuts. Instead, he left the water plain, making sure it wasn't too hot, before he returned to the living room to collect his injured flatmate.

He helped John undress, waving away his complaints that he could do it himself, and then helped him into the water. Painstakingly gentle, he cleaned John up.

"I'm alright," John assured him, seeing the worry on his face. "Really, it looks worse than it is. A few days and I'll be as good as new."

Sherlock didn't reply. He helped John from the bath, towelled him dry, and then sat him on the toilet.

"Stay there," he ordered, running up the stairs to grab fresh boxers and a loose cotton vest.

When he returned to the bathroom, he was pleased to find that John hadn't moved from the toilet. He was turned towards the sink, brushing his teeth.

John dressed slowly, letting Sherlock help him with the vest.

"I'm so ready for sleep," he muttered, his eyes already drooping.

Sherlock led him to his room, ignoring John's protestations that he could manage the stairs. He gently pushed John onto the bed, pulling the cover up so it was resting just under his chin. Stripping himself, Sherlock climbed in beside him, being careful not to hurt him.

"Sherlock…"

"Please, John. Just… I need you here. I need to know you're here."

"Come here, you daft sod," John murmured, wincing as he lifted his arm up. Sherlock scowled at him, pushing the arm back down and wrapping his own arms around John carefully.

"I'm taller," he murmured. "I get to be the hugger, you get to be the huggee."

Laughing, John turned gingerly onto his side, snuggling into Sherlock. "This was the last one," he whispered.

"What?"

"The last mission. I've been granted early retirement."

"No more?" Sherlock asked, unable to disguise the hope in his voice.

"Unless something huge happens, I won't be called back to active duty," John confirmed. "I could see how much it bothered you and… I enjoy being home with you."

Sherlock squeezed John softly. "Thank you, John."

"You know I love you, right?"

Sherlock smiled, kissing John's head. "I love you too."

John was just drifting off to sleep, when Sherlock asked, "Does this mean I don't have to hear 'not gay' again. You're mine now, right? This…" he squeezed him again. "This means you're mine?"

John smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock's shoulder. "I've always been yours. It just took me a while to realise it."


End file.
